


honey lemon tea

by zenosungs (pastelkoma)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Sickfic, Thunderstorms, Tsukishima Kei is Bad at Feelings, Vomiting, they r just in college, tsukishima is stupid and sick, tw drinks, tw food, tw mentions of death but no one dies, tw thunderstorm, tw vomit, yamaguchi loves tsukki so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:08:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25984132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastelkoma/pseuds/zenosungs
Summary: “Yeah. Go. I’m keeping you waiting,” Tsukishima grumbles grouchily, ducking away when Yamaguchi attempts to plant another kiss on a weird part of his face. “Andstopthat. It’s gross. You’ll get sick, too.”“Don’t care,” Yamaguchi says, and before Tsukishima has the chance to avoid it, Yamaguchi leans down and presses his lips to Tsukishima’s own.(OR: Tsukishima is sick, self-doubting, and irrational—but Yamaguchi is there to love him nonetheless.)
Relationships: Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 12
Kudos: 197





	honey lemon tea

**Author's Note:**

> tw vomiting, tw food, tw drinks, tw mentions of death but no one really dies, tw thunderstorm
> 
> hiii so i started school therefore new works may be a bit slow to come out so im sorry :0 also if you've read my mystic messenger juzen series i promise the next fic is coming soon!
> 
> anyway, this fic is basically self-indulgent and fluffy and a bit of angst, because tsukishima is an asshole but a feverish asshole who just wants love from yamaguchi even though he'd never admit it.
> 
> enjoy! :D

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Tsukishima should have known that, from the beginning when he had the terribly strong notion to never wake up again, that today was probably going to be one of the worst days of his life. 

And, as it turned out, that guess was proving itself to be true so far; he hadn’t moved from his spot on the bed ever since his alarm woke him up, which was unusual enough. Yamaguchi had already caught on, knowing something was wrong but not really knowing _what_ , only sparing Tsukishima a poke on the cheek (one that Tsukishima returned with a piercing glare). 

Everything was cold. Too cold. The type of cold that made his bones want to shatter.

He wanted to shatter right along with it. It definitely wasn’t the first time he woke up sick—definitely not—but he hated it nonetheless, just as he always did, just as he always does. And his hate was justified for a multitude of reasons, actually; Yamaguchi would fawn over him in the way that made Tsukishima’s patience grow thin, and Tsukishima would be left feeling absolutely awful, and he would also be left feeling even more pathetic than he already feels. 

He has gotten sick before ever since he moved in with Yamaguchi into their shared apartment, but only sniffly head colds that could be cured with a cup of tea and angry brooding over his unwell state. 

Today, though, things were different, just as things always tend to be.

Tsukishima’s stomach was hurting, a barely there discomfort, but tangible as ever. There was school as well, and Yamaguchi was probably in the kitchen making breakfast (probably just a badly cooked egg because both of them were not the best at cooking) and here was Tsukishima, still in bed, staring at the ceiling with bleary eyes and a dry throat.

He already feels pathetic. He _has_ to get up.

Yamaguchi, however, comes into the room before Tsukishima can try to make his way towards the kitchen. He’s sunshine personified in the most endearing and bright way ever, but today, everything seems a bit dulled in Tsukishima’s eyes, even a sunshine boy. It’s a little scary. Maybe it’s the sickness, or maybe it’s because Tsukishima is itching to get up and do something before he pops like a balloon.

“Tsukki? Tsukki! Are you sleeping still?” Yamaguchi pipes up, voice muffled because Tsukishima’s ears feel filled with cotton. “Tsukki?”

Tsukishima retorts with a barely concealed growl of distaste, “Do I look like I’m sleeping?”

“A bit, yeah,” Yamaguchi responds, sounding a bit fazed, probably because of Tsukishima’s snappy reply. Tsukishima is naturally brusque with his words but even more so on this sick morning; he doesn’t even have the energy to try and sound nicer. 

Tsukishima huffs. “I’m getting up now.”

“Doesn’t look like it,” Yamaguchi nearly giggles, and Tsukishima practically hisses.

The blond fervently swings his legs over the side of the bed, biting back a sharp gasp when the movement only seems to make his muscles ache more and his stomach jostle—he shakes it off as quickly as the feeling came, determined, because he’s _okay_. He might be pathetic and he might be sick on a stupidly cold morning, but he’s _okay_ and he knows how to work through these types of things by himself. It’s nothing new.

It doesn’t make it any less strainful on his body, though. “Shit,” he curses softly as he pulls himself to his feet, very nearly swaying before catching himself, ignoring the way Yamaguchi had stepped forward in alarm when the blond looked like he was about to fall. “ _What?_ ” he says, narrowing his eyes at Yamaguchi, who stands blurry without Tsukishima’s glasses. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Tsukki, you’re not okay, are you?”

There it is, so painfully _wrong_ , Yamaguchi is _wrong,_ because Tsukishima is _okay._ He’s absolutely fine and he’s been sick before so this is something he can handle, so Yamaguchi is wrong, because Tsukishima is fine.

“Don’t ask dumb questions, Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima says, but he knows his retort has less bite to it than usual. He shakes his head as Yamaguchi takes another step forward. “You… cooked breakfast, didn’t you?” he asks instead, trying to make that terrible look of soft worry on Yamaguchi’s face just _go away_.

“Yeah, but it’s kind of badly made, because almost everything I make is badly made, but I could make toast for you, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi says, eager to please; and much to Tsukishima’s gratefulness, he doesn’t bring up anything else about Tsukishima’s condition. 

Tsukishima sighs, paying no mind to the way the pounding in the back of his head is steadily growing more violent. Instead he begins to walk to the doorway where Yamaguchi is standing, looking small and a bit too concerned for Tsukishima’s liking, though he can tell that the other is trying to not make it so obvious. “I’ll just fix myself a bowl of cereal,” Tsukishima says, avoiding his boyfriend’s gaze. 

“Right!”

The sun is barely shining through the windows, where the curtains are pulled open, a startling difference from the dark bedroom. It makes Tsukishima wince slightly, because though it’s not so bright it certainly feels that way. He doesn’t recall if it was going to rain today. He looks to Yamaguchi, who knows how to read him too easily, taking notice of the silent question on Tsukishima’s lips.

“Oh—yeah, it’s going to rain, Tsukki, so we should hurry before it starts to,” Yamaguchi says as he takes a seat on the couch, bowl of his food in his hands. Tsukishima doesn’t falter when Yamaguchi grants him a knowing expression. “If you’re feeling up to going to school?”

“Of course I am.”

“Yeah. Okay…”

Tsukishima should have known better than to have Yamaguchi fooled, because the other is terrifyingly insightful as to what Tsukishima is feeling at whatever moment, and at this moment, it’s pathetically _sick._ Sick, but fine. He’s fine. Everything is fine.

The cereal pouring into the bowl is the only audible noise in the otherwise silent room (save for Yamaguchi’s eating). Tsukishima isn’t hungry. He’s not hungry, but he also knows Yamaguchi enough to also know that the boy will make him eat because he’s keen on keeping Tsukishima healthy, much to the other’s irritation. (It’s cute when Yamaguchi worries, though you won't hear that from Tsukishima aloud.)

When Tsukishima joins Yamaguchi on the couch, he’s rewarded with a toothy grin, one that is just so _Yamaguchi_ , that it makes Tsukishima’s heart ache. He looks away to focus on a TV show that isn’t interesting, a spoonful of cereal to his lips that isn’t even appetizing. Today everything is wrong; he’s sick and everything feels wrong, but Yamaguchi is here, so that’s probably the only right thing on such a wrong day.

Chew. Swallow. He holds back a gag.

There’s a soft brush of fingertips across the back of his hand. He doesn’t turn to look at Yamaguchi, but he already knows there’s a soft expression waiting for him. One that never changes. Never has changed.

“Tsukki.”

Tsukishima breathes. “Yeah.”

Then the soft brush of fingertips travels from the back of his hand to his forehead—before Tsukishima can protest, Yamaguchi already has his hand pressed against too-warm skin. Tsukishima was already aware that he didn’t have him fooled, but suddenly a hot rush of shame flushes through his body that probably makes him even warmer than he already is. Dark golden eyes avoiding tenderly soft brown ones, Tsukishima shifts in discomfort, even if Yamaguchi’s hand is refreshingly cool against his skin.

“So, Tsukki, when did you plan on telling me you were sick?” comes the accusing voice that makes Tsukishima wince.

“I didn’t need to tell you,” Tsukishima says, quietly. Truthfully. “You already knew.”

Yamaguchi blanches before he giggles a bit, making the room a whole lot brighter, but for some reason it makes Tsukishima feel achy even more. “You’re right... but, man, Tsukki. Try telling me these things, okay? Even as a best-friend-slash-boyfriend we should still have some communication.”

 _Best-friend-slash-boyfriend_. Heh. “Right.”

(He’s lying, because there’s a lot of things he hides from Yamaguchi, things like how right now he wants to claw his own feverish skin off and cry, so communication isn’t really his forte.)

Silence follows, because Yamaguchi knows when to be quiet with his boyfriend, a skill he developed rather early on in their friendship. Now, though— _now_ , Tsukishima is conflicted, doesn’t know if he wants Yamaguchi to keep talking because it’s a comfort, or if he wants Yamaguchi to just keep contributing to the even less comforting silence that has enveloped the room. Option 1 would mean Yamaguchi will be aware that Tsukishima is steadily feeling much worse than what he’s letting on. 

He doesn’t want that. Can’t have that. 

So Tsukishima takes what Yamaguchi offers, which is his soft silence, gentle fingers tap-tap-tapping on the back of the blond’s own hand. Even if he wants him to talk. Distract him from his own mind, but the request comes with a cost, one that Tsukishima doesn’t want to pay.

He’s fine. He has to be, so he doesn’t say anything. Taking one more bite of his cereal, he sets the bowl back on the table because the food is making him feel sick. ( _Sicker_.)

Somewhere along the way, Yamaguchi’s hand moved from Tsukishima’s to the back of the blond’s head, fingers only teasing, since the desired amount of skinship Tsukishima wanted varied from day to day. He’s so caring, so considerate. Tsukishima aches as the fingers dance along the hairs at the back of his neck.

“You’re not hungry anymore?” Yamaguchi says slowly, eyeing the half-eaten bowl of cereal on the coffee table. When Tsukishima supplies him with a small shake of his head, Yamaguchi hums, the fingers gradually picking up their soft dancing along the hair on the back of Tsukishima’s neck. “You didn’t eat very much, though, Tsukki.”

“Good observation,” he says, voice bitter, not giving way to how relaxing Yamaguchi’s fingers massaging the back of his neck are. Though the way he leans into the touch is a blatant indication of that, Yamaguchi doesn’t say anything. “Not hungry.”

“You should eat more later,” Yamaguchi says, more of a statement than a suggestion. Tsukishima doesn’t protest, but the soft grunt he gives in reply is more than enough for Yamaguchi to know. “Seriously, Tsukki. Now let me get up so I can make our lunches?” (They both refuse to eat the gross college cafeteria food, so they settle for their slightly-bad-but-satisfactory homemade cooking.)

 _No_ , Tsukishima wants to say, _Don’t go._ The words get caught in his throat, dangling before he shoves them back down with a soft swallow, body tensing in the process, to which Yamaguchi tends to with a shy kiss on the back of his neck. Tsukishima wants to cry. Wants more. Wants everything to stop feeling so wrong, wants to ask Yamaguchi to stay home today, wants to tell him to just cuddle him in bed until he feels better.

But he doesn’t do any of the aforementioned things. Instead, he nods, and lets Yamaguchi stand up—it takes all the willpower in him to not reach out and grab his hand, but he doesn’t, only sitting in silent shame. He avoids Yamaguchi’s eyes when the other flashes a soft smile.

“Right. You’re still going to school, right?” Yamaguchi says, and Tsukishima knows that it’s a test. He tsks. _Stupid Yamaguchi._

He really doesn’t feel up to going to school, and he’s only half-sure that his stomach can hold out long enough; even if he made it to school, he’s definitely not going to be able to make it throughout the rest of the day. This is the one thing he can indulge himself to (he’d rather admit that he doesn’t want to go to school, than go and throw up _at_ school).

“No,” he finally grumbles under his breath, quiet, but not too quiet that Yamaguchi misses it. He grimaces; even that one word makes him well up with hot shame.

In less than two seconds, Yamaguchi has crossed from the kitchen to back where Tsukishima is sitting on the couch. His hands reach out—they falter as they’re about to cup Tsukishima’s cheeks, unsure for a small second, before they slowly come to rest on his skin so that Tsukishima’s face is sandwiched gently between the two hands.

“I’ll stay if you want me to,” Yamaguchi states, looking at Tsukishima intently even as the other avoids his gaze as well as he can. “If you _need_ me to. It’s fine, really, Tsukki! There isn’t anything important I have to do today, anyway.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “ _Go,”_ Tsukishima says, nudging Yamaguchi’s hands off his face with a noise of disgruntlement. “You don’t need to skip because of me. I don’t even feel that bad. You just worry too much.” Only half of that is true. Yamaguchi worries too much, but Tsukishima might just feel _that bad_ . His head is hurting increasingly worse, and his stomach has stopped flip-flopping to just flat out churning, and his body feels heavy and tired. None of this is said, though, because he’s _okay_ and as long as Yamaguchi thinks that, then everything is fine. It’s fine.

Yamaguchi grants him with a look of disbelief. “No, Tsukki, I can stay—”

“Shut _up_ , Yamaguchi.”

“Sorry, Tsukki! But I’m serious, I’ll stay, and I’ll take care of you. I can.”

“You told me you have important things due today. A test, right? And a paper you definitely haven’t finished because I know you too well,” Tsukishima says, frowning at the way Yamaguchi grins sheepishly, having been called out.

“Ah, well, yeah,” he mumbles, “But! You’re more important than any test or paper, Tsukki! I’ll stay home for weeks and weeks even if you so much as ask me!”

“Please don’t.”

“My point still stands,” Yamaguchi says, gentle in the way that he is. “You’re worth more than anything—actually, more than _everything_ —so let me take care of you, Tsukki.”

Tsukishima knows he’s incompetent in many places, and he knows that he lacks experience in the caretaking department, and he knows that he can’t possibly give Yamaguchi half of what the green-haired boy gives him. He’s already terrible—the last thing he’s going to do is let himself be even more of a burden to his boyfriend. Even if Yamaguchi tells him that it’s alright and he’s perfect the way he is, he knows that it’s not alright. It’s _not._

So that’s why he says, “It’s fine, Tadashi,” using Yamaguchi’s given name because he knows it persuades the younger more successfully. “Just go to school. It’s just a head cold and I can manage.”

Yamaguchi sighs a sigh of disappointment. “If you say so…”

Tsukishima scrunches his face up, groaning when Yamaguchi plants a small kiss on the top of his crinkled nose with a giggle. “Stop,” he mumbles, swatting Yamaguchi’s face away as the other keeps on laughing, so endearing that Tsukishima _almost_ asks him to stay. “ _Go on,_ ” he urges, voice annoyed. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I’m not a child.”

“You sure do act like one sometimes,” Yamaguchi mutters, giggling sheepishly when he earns a harsh glare from Tsukishima. “Kidding, Tsukki! Well, not really, but that doesn’t matter. Are you completely sure you want me to go?”

Tsukishima fights off a grimace that wants to overtake his features, because there are moments where he revels in Yamaguchi fawning over him and times where he absolutely doesn’t want nor need it. This is one of the latter moments. He’s okay, and it’s not fair for Yamaguchi to miss school because he can’t handle a dumb stomach bug. Tsukishima isn’t a very prideful individual in general but he’s a different person with Yamaguchi, who gets to see his vulnerable sides and hold him in ways no one else can, so it’s not fair for him to burden his boyfriend all because he’s a pathetic loser who is so damn _needy._ He can’t have that; it’s not _fair_. He can’t even recall a clear memory of when he had properly taken care of Yamaguchi when the other was sick because Tsukishima sucks at that stuff (comfort, hugs) even when Yamaguchi assures him that it’s absolutely okay.

It’s not. Tsukishima knows it’s not, no matter how much Yamaguchi tells him otherwise.

“Yeah. Go. I’m keeping you waiting,” Tsukishima grumbles grouchily, ducking away when Yamaguchi attempts to plant another kiss on a weird part of his face. “And _stop_ that. It’s gross. You'll get sick, too.”

“Don’t care,” Yamaguchi says, and before Tsukishima has the chance to avoid it, Yamaguchi leans down and presses his lips to Tsukishima’s own.

It’s soft, slow, and a bit quick at the same time. Like a song against his lips, fingers cupping Tsukishima’s face acting as a soft melody against his skin, and even though on any other day Tsukishima would blush a flustered shade of red, all it does is make him ache with such overwhelming _longing_ that he thinks he might throw up right then and there.

Yamaguchi pulls away, and Tsukishima can’t even look him in the eye. He feels nauseous. He’s yearning and wants him to stay but the words can’t come out of his stupid mouth because all he feels is stubborn shame at his pitiful patheticness. 

“If you need anything, _anything_ at all,” Yamaguchi says, “Call me right away. Like, right away. Have me on speed dial. I’ll always answer. If I don’t, it means I’ve died, but that’s not very likely so don’t worry, okay, Tsukki? The Ibuprofen is in the cabinets in the bathroom, so are the stomach relaxers and Pepto Bismol, even though you don’t like Pepto Bismol you have to take it if you really need to, okay, Tsukki?”

“I _got it._ ”

It’s silent when Yamaguchi fixes himself his lunch, and when he changes his clothes, and when he gathers his belongings into his backpack. Tsukishima stays on the couch, eyes fixated on a TV that seems like it’s playing nothing. 

It’s still silent when Yamaguchi tries to kiss Tsukishima on the cheek only for the other to turn his head away (“You’ll get sick, you idiot”) and the only time the silence is broken is when Yamaguchi says “I love you, Tsukki!” before turning and leaving, the door clicking on his way out.

Tsukishima turns his head away, pulls his knees up to his chest, and swallows back the shame.

  
  
  
  


He almost dozes—maybe it can be classified as a light nap—and jars awake for some reason unknown. When he does, he feels about a million times heavier, lethargy has all of his limbs twitching, and he’s really fucking _cold_. 

Sometime when he was drifting he moved himself into a position so that he was lying sideways on the couch. Moving himself to sit up, Tsukishima hisses at the crick in his neck, a hand instinctively coming up to rub at it; he falters once feeling the unnatural sweltering heat that rests on his too-sweaty skin. _Shit_. Even in his denial he can’t miss the way he feels much warmer than earlier—just his luck.

Tsukishima’s ears (as stuffed as they are) pick up on a soft pattering noise, a gentle drumming, one that provides little comfort despite its soothing sound. A quick glance to the window reveals the raindrops scattering the glass, the gray clouds adorning a once-blue sky.

He feels absolutely fucking awful. It’s as if the sky is aching along with him.

“I know,” he mutters to no one in particular (maybe to the sky?) as he leans his head against the couch pillows. “It hurts.” 

Tsukishima isn’t sure if he’s talking about how he feels, or if he’s talking about the fact that Yamaguchi isn’t there for him—there _with_ him.

(Then again, he’s the one who pushed Yamaguchi away, so who’s really to blame?)

He finds his phone tucked between two couch pillows; once he turns it on, he’s not surprised to see an overwhelming flurry of texts from Yamaguchi, taking up his lockscreen, most of them in all caps.

**_yamaguchi_ : ** _tsukki!!! tell me how you’re doing_

**_yamaguchi_ :** _tsukki? hey answer me D:_

**_yamaguchi:_** _dont forget the medicine is in the bathroom!! take it, actually take it. pls :D_

**_yamaguchi:_ ** _...hello????_

**_yamaguchi:_** _tsukkii8vqbb??!???????_

**_yamaguchi_ : ** _WHY ARENT YOU ANSWERIGNFM_

**_yamaguchi_ : ** _TSUKKI ARE YOU OAKAY?!2!3!_

**_yamaguchi_ : ** _if you don’t answer this i’m going to run out of school rn and go over to you i am SERIOUS_

**_yamaguchi_ :** _TSUKKI_

Tsukishima shakes his head and swipes on the last text—it was sent only a few minutes ago—and prays that Yamaguchi hadn’t kept true to his word and ran out just to head back to the apartment.

**_me_ : ** _i’m fine. i just slept a bit, that’s why i wasn’t answering._

He pauses. Then, as an afterthought:

**_me_ : ** _now stop, you’re overbearing_

He sends it with guilt in his gut; Yamaguchi may be overbearing but it’s endearing and in a good way, because it makes Tsukishima feel cared for, but right now it doesn’t feel _right._ It just lets him know how miserably pathetic he is, having to cling to his busy boyfriend for help taking care of himself. It’s gross. It’s _disgusting._ It’s disgusting and Tsukishima knows he’s better than this, so he refuses to let himself be a burden for his absolutely perfect boyfriend, even more so than he knows he already is.

Yamaguchi texts back not even a minute later.

**_yamaguchi_ : ** _if refusing to let u die means i’ll have to be overbearing, then i’m overbearing, tsukki >:( _

**_me_ : ** _shut up, yamaguchi. i’m not gonna die_

**_yamaguchi_ :** _when u overdose on ibuprofen maybe you will_

Tsukishima ignores that last message (mostly because Yamaguchi is right; he has a plan to just take Ibuprofen until he feels absolutely nothing at all) and, after a bout of lightning-quick hesitation, places his phone facedown on the couch cushion without a second thought to it. It’d be better to not answer to Yamaguchi’s texts so much; the younger is in class and Tsukishima can’t afford to be more of a distraction to him because he already is one, and it’d be one more thing to tack on to the list of horrible things he’s doing to Yamaguchi, the first one being such a huge fucking burden. Tsukishima may be an asshole, but not to Yamaguchi—never to Yamaguchi.

So that’s why he has to be better than this. Maybe it’s the feverish haze he’s in, but he’s starting to think he _really_ is no good for Yamaguchi.

Maybe he isn’t.

_Ah—_

Tsukishima startles when a particularly loud gust of wind rattles the window, rattling his bones right along with it. Even with his clogged up ears the noise resonates in his skull with no reprieve, and he swallows thickly, though his throat is dry and sore. What does he do now? What is he supposed to do now to properly take care of himself? He’s gotten so reliant on Yamaguchi to help him; he thinks back on all of those moments where that had happened, and regrets them. Had Yamaguchi ever gotten fed up with him and his unintentional neediness? Tsukishima hates having to rely on people but Yamaguchi is _Yamaguchi_ , and he leans on him for support even when he doesn’t notice. That’s a habit he needs to break, he thinks.

The phone buzz, buzz, buzzes with each new text from Yamaguchi. Tsukishima’s fingers twitch. He blinks. He doesn’t pick up the phone.

Gosh, he feels fucking _awful._ His muscles feel like they’ve all been pulled and snapped in half, his head is now absolutely pounding like there’s some angry guy in there with a hammer, and the sloshing in his stomach is steadily growing to be more overwhelming (though he suspects that that may partially be from the nauseating thoughts of _Yamaguchi doesn’t need you, you’re too much, he doesn’t need you_ that keep rampaging in his mind).

Tsukishima stands, even though he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to do anything other than lie on the couch and sleep for the next day or two, but Yamaguchi told him the medicine was in the cabinets and Tsukishima would be mauled if his boyfriend found out that he didn’t end up taking it. Which means, much to his reluctance, he should probably take the medicine.

He trudges to the bathroom. Every step, slower than the last, makes his body feel so much damn _heavier._

Pushing open the door, he pauses for a short second, not so excited to look in the mirror and see how dead he probably looks. He’d be damned if he didn’t look as dead as he feels. He feels like a walking corpse, so it'd only be natural he’d look like one, too.

Two more steps forward take him to the mirror. He blanches once he sees his reflection.

He never really did have a good sleeping schedule (he is a night owl by all means) but the bags etched under his eyes are sunken deep, so dark that you’d think he didn’t sleep for a week or two. Blotchy pink adorns the apples of his cheeks, the tip of his nose, the ends of his ears. Tsukishima’s eyes are bright with a feverish glow, and his lips are terrifyingly cracked and chapped.

He looks even worse than a walking corpse.

“Disgusting,” he curses softly to himself, turning and swinging open the medicine cabinet. A bit of rummaging leads him to the gross Pepto-Bismol and the Ibuprofen sits there, as well as a cherry-flavored throat spray, one that acts like a numbing agent to the sore body part. There’s more medicine, coming in boxes and and pills and bottles, but none of them are all too appealing, especially to someone like Tsukishima who hates the bitter taste of medicine with all of his being. If he doesn’t end up puking later on, he might just puke from taking any of the repulsive gag-inducing medicine.

None of the provided options are too enticing. 

He scrunches his face up after popping two Ibuprofen pills into his mouth, coughing once he attempts to swallow them dry. With a tiny groan, he cups his hands under the running faucet water in order to take a drink from them, and very nearly gags when he feels the pills sliding down his throat. It’s a success, but he doesn’t know if it was worth it at all, because now his throat is hurting tenfold. _Great._

Tsukishima doesn’t have time for this. With legs the equivalent of jelly, he trudges to the bedroom—the bed is neatly made, when had Yamaguchi done that for him?—and there’s a small note on the bedside table, folded and drawn on it is a tiny heart in black ink.

Notes from Yamaguchi aren’t rare, and they make Tsukishima happy even if all he does in response to receiving them is to toss them on the floor with a “You’re cheesy, and I’m not reading that.” But in the dead of night, when he’s sure Yamaguchi is asleep, he reads them. He always does, and he allows himself a small smile after he scans his eyes over the words. Yamaguchi is a romantic, Tsukishima doesn’t prefer to be, but they work, as they tend to do.

 _Now,_ though, the sight of the note makes his stomach sink. Makes him feel as if he shouldn’t read it because he might cave in and call Yamaguchi to come home and keep him company. Makes him yearn.

Against his better judgment he shakily opens the note, biting the inside of his cheek, throat sore and body cold.

_tsukki!!_

_hope you’re alright! hope you found this and you’re reading it! you’re reading this, right? hi, i miss you! and i wish i could take care of you but you’re a stubborn brat who doesn’t want me to :( but that’s okay, because i’ll be home soon enough and maybe then you’ll accept my love :D_

_you’re okay, right? be sure to text me and take the medicine >:( _

_get some rest! i made the bed before i left even though i know you’re gonna sleep and mess it up again~_

_i love you! mwah!!_

_\- yams <3 _

His breath hitches. 

Once he’s in bed with his glasses off, under the covers, and drifting to sleep, he clutches the note to his chest—trying to make the stinging in his heart go away.

(He fails.)

  
  
  


Tsukishima jolts awake with a start. He’s sweating, which isn’t surprising, but _goddamn_ is it cold. The room is noticeably darker as well, but there’s no other sound in the apartment except for the steadily increasing pounding of the rain against the window, so Yamaguchi can’t be home yet. The storm must have gotten worse, he supposes.

He couldn't care less about the storm, but it does make his already gloomy day a whole lot drearier, which is the last thing he needs. But because Tsukishima thinks he’s cursed by whatever being is ruling the world, of course he’s sick on a school day and it’s storming and his limbs are hurting like hell. 

Better yet, he feels even worse than earlier, sleep being a temporary bliss. He’s awake now, and he feels _vile._ His head is pounding just like the storm out there, he can barely swallow because it makes his throat feel like someone is ripping it out, and he’s pretty sure his stomach is going to act up on him soon.

With reluctance heavy in his bones, he puts his glasses on and makes his way to the bathroom. The overhead light flickers with the force of the storm outside. Grabbing the cherry-flavored throat spray, he opens his mouth and goes for it—the taste is abhorrent but he’s willing to take anything at this point just so he can stop feeling like he’s been killed countless times and has risen from the dead.

With his throat now numbed, he takes two more Ibuprofen pills. He pauses before taking one more.

It’s not time for the Pepto-Bismol. Not yet. Hopefully never.

He refrains from taking his temperature, though, because he knows the numbers will be ugly and remind him of just how horrible he is at taking care of himself. It’ll remind him that Yamaguchi is better at taking care of him because Tsukishima is practically a toddler, huh? Tsukishima, so cold and taking pleasure in insulting others, relying on his scrawny best-friend-slash-boyfriend to look after him. It’s _laughable_ and he’s gotten too comfortable. Let down too many walls, maybe. It’s taken so long for Yamaguchi to get him to open up even though they’ve been best friends for even longer, and now, Tsukishima finds himself regretting it. He’s dead weight. 

With a shudder, he stumbles his way to the closet. A bit of rummaging leads him to his token item; Yamaguchi’s oversized hoodie, one that fits baggy on both of them, even though Tsukishima tends to wear it more than his boyfriend (and whenever Yamaguchi brings it up, Tsukishima glares him down into silence). The hoodie is a stupid shade of blue with a worn-out image of god knows what plastered to the front, but it smells like Yamaguchi in all of its raggedy glory, so he’ll give the ugly thing some points just for that.

_Now what?_

He’s sick, shuddering, and in his boyfriend’s hoodie because he misses him even when he feels like he doesn’t deserve to. In other words, he’s a mess, and he’s an unflattering one at that.

Tsukishima heaves a sigh.

By the time he makes it to the living room he can barely stand, which is concerning, but he pays no mind (he took medicine so he should be okay, right?) and flops on the couch. Instead of normal-paced breaths, these ones are shallow and labored. Yamaguchi’s hoodie doesn’t even make him warm because everything is still so fucking _cold_ and he wants his boyfriend here even though he knows he shouldn’t and _wow_ , everything is really fucking hurting now, he’s going to throw up, _he’s going to—_

He buries his head in his hands. He wants Yamaguchi. He wants gentle fingers playing with the hair on the back of his neck, he wants lips pressing themselves to his forehead, he wants a tender “I love you, Tsukki!” to fill the emptiness of the apartment.

He’s selfish. He’s fucking _pathetic._

_“Here’s some lemon and honey tea, Tsukki!” Yamaguchi says, cheeks still round with the remnants of baby fat, freckles splayed out and Tsukishima can busy himself with counting every single one of them. He doesn’t, though, and just glares down the cup of tea in Yamaguchi’s small hands. “My mom used to make me this tea when I got sick, too. So I made some for you! Try it! You’ll feel better!”_

The tea. Yamaguchi always made him that tea when he was sick, even when they were younger. Maybe Tsukishima can make some, too—hot lemon and honey tea, with a sliver of ginger at the top if Yamaguchi was feeling particularly fancy that day. It did always soothe Tsukishima’s throat and helped with congestion, and made his stomach feel all warm and heart feel all mushy against his will. Yeah; he can make some for himself, what’s the big deal?

Maybe if he made it, it’d make him feel like Yamaguchi was really there. At least until he comes home.

He scrabbles to the kitchen and waste no time rummaging through the fridge for lemons. He finds some—three, actually—and tosses them to the counter, breath catching in his throat when one of them rolls to the ground. He doesn’t care, he just wants to feel _better,_ because he can take care of himself and he doesn’t need to rely on anyone else. He’s having trouble breathing but that’s fine, too. He can take care of himself. He can stop being pathetic, he can stop being weak, he can stop being a whiny little bitch and he can prove to Yamaguchi that the other doesn’t need to always look after him like he’s a child.

Not minding the mess he’s making, his hands shake as he’s looking through the cabinets for some honey. Honey, he just needs honey then he can boil the water and soon he can have the tea like Yamaguchi always makes it for him. He just needs the honey. 

Brown sugar, a box of food coloring, Pringles, a bottle of maple syrup…

_Where is it?_

It’s not there.

He swallows again, saliva a slight pain against his numbed throat, and continues to search. No, no, no. It has to be there. They went shopping a few days ago for groceries and they didn’t get any honey? It has to be there. It _has to._

A frenzied mess, Tsukishima emits another shallow breath, hands trembling so much he feels like they’re going to fall off his body as he pushes through the items on the shelves. There are so many things, so many things but no honey.

It’s not there.

His hands drop to his sides.

He has three lemons, one of which is on the floor, and he has the water ready to be boiled, but no honey. It won’t be like how Yamaguchi makes it. It won’t be like how Yamaguchi makes the fucking tea and it _has_ to be like Yamaguchi makes the tea. It’s the only way he’ll be able to cope with the lingering loneliness that’s plagued him this whole time. Yamaguchi’s hoodie hugging his body barely does anything to console him anymore, and he just needs that honey for the tea and he’ll be okay. He’s sure of it. _He’s sure of it._

Which means he’ll have to make a grocery store run.

Tsukishima is in no condition to, but he doesn’t care. He runs (as best as he can) to the front door, slipping on some shoes. He’ll only take a little minute, the grocery store isn’t a far walk from the apartment. He can make it back in no time. He has to.

Once he steps foot outside the building, a biting rush of cold air nips at his skin, the whipping of rainwater already stinging his face. It’s storming hard, and the sky is a deep shade of gray. With a hitched breath he tugs his hood over his head, ignoring the way the rain is already beginning to stick to his glasses. Hurrying, he shudders again, legs feeling as if they’re going to give out from under his body as he speedwalks to the best of his ability, given how sick he is. He doesn’t have time to worry about that, though. Even though his stomach is sloshing and he feels like he’s going to pass out any minute.

Why did the weather have to pick this day to decide to go ape shit on the world?

_You have to make it. You have to go._

A pained cry pushes its way out of Tsukishima’s throat as he stumbles slightly, vision blurring, even through the filmy water on his glasses lens. 

_You have to make it. You have to go!_

What would Yamaguchi think when he finds Tsukishima to be sopping wet just because he went out in the rain to buy some honey? Would he laugh? No, Tsukishima would just explain why he had to go and get the honey. _For the tea,_ he would say. _I had to get it for the tea._

He stumbles along for a bit, nearly losing his balance, and he’s pretty sure there’s a chance he might have gotten lost. Which would make this whole situation even funnier, he supposes. Just another thing to make him more pathetic; getting lost on the way to the grocery store.

A loud crack suddenly splits through the air, earsplitting and it startles Tsukishima so hard he does lose his balance this time, the world barely giving him a warning before it tilts and he crumbles to the ground in a heap. Great, it’s _thundering._ Splendid.

Another terrifying crash in the air makes Tsukishima flinch, hands tightening against the cold pavement of the sidewalk. If anyone walks past him, they sure don't care about helping him get up. The thought makes Tsukishima inwardly groan; he’s going to have to help himself up, which seems like a lot of work, especially since it’s getting even harder to breathe now. 

He pulls himself up with a groan piercing the air, swaying a little bit but managing to keep his balance this time around. He feels horrendous, even more so—maybe it’s the way the rain is digging into his skin with no remorse, or maybe it’s because he truly is alone, or maybe it’s because he doesn’t even know how close the grocery store is anymore. Did he really get lost? He wants to laugh at that. It’s funny how pathetic he is. Hilarious, actually, that he seems so composed on the surface but here he is, about to pass out on the sidewalk all because he wants to make tea and can’t because he doesn’t have the right ingredients.

One step forward.

Two.

Three—

He sways again on his feet, almost toppling over, but he catches himself at the last moment. With a quick gasp for breath he pushes his fingers against his temple, feeling sweaty and drenched with rainwater all at once, cold and hot, but aching all the same. 

_You’re weak and needy and helpless and—_

Tsukishima propels himself forward again, vision blurred from the fever and the water on his glasses, taking a few more steps forward before he has to stop. His stomach is trying to make its way up his throat, and he’s so spectacularly dizzy that he genuinely thinks there’s a good chance that he might pass out. He panics a bit at the thought; what would happen if he passed out? Would Yamaguchi be able to find him? 

Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Maybe this was a _stupid_ idea.

(It’s blatantly obvious, but Tsukishima doesn’t want to admit it.)

Another crackle of thunder echoes in his skull. He’s nauseous now, the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach starting to spread in his veins. Desperate, he presses the palm of his hand against his lips, willing himself to push forward. Just three more steps, two, even just one. He can do it, he can’t be too far from the store. _He can still make it—_

A harsh gag shoots its way up his throat, wracking his feeble body. Tsukishima is tall but at the moment he feels comparable to an ant, so tiny and helpless, useless. 

Another step forward produces another gag from his body, muffled by the fierce winds. He shakes his head in earnest. Swallowing back the next gag he presses his hand even harder against his mouth, willing himself to just ignore the nausea. He can still make it.

But he’s _nauseous_. He’s nauseous and trembling and utterly sick and stuck in the rain. He’s starting to think he maybe should have never left at all.

The next gag, unable to be restrained, makes a swell of vomit rise up in his throat; he trips forward with an even harsher retch into his palm. That’s all it takes before he loses it, a wet rush coming from his lips, moving his hand from his mouth just in time for him to begin to heave over the pavement. The first of it splashes against the concrete, leaving him gasping for air in between retches that make his whole body shake.

Tsukishima’s legs give out, and he drops to his knees, the heaves never ceasing until he starts to gag up stomach acid, which burns his throat and brings tears to the corners of his eyes. He feels fucking _disgusting._

He wants Yamaguchi. He wants Yamaguchi so much that it hurts, and he lets out a noise that is somewhere between a gag and the beginnings of a sob. 

He can’t make it. He shouldn’t have left. But he’s so bad at taking care of himself so now here he is, puking all over the sidewalk with sickly belches in between, in a worn-out hoodie that no longer smells like Yamaguchi but now smells like rainwater and regret. It’s a sight for sore eyes, and he wants to cry, which is saying something because Tsukishima doesn’t cry.

He takes out his phone from his pocket once he finishes heaving over the puddle of sick he made, fingers quivering as he swallows past the vile taste in his mouth and caves, pressing Yamaguchi’s contact before he can think about what he’s doing. He pushes the phone to his ear with a quick gasp of his breath, stomach still rolling, head still pounding as the thunder splits through the angry sky.

Yamaguchi picks up right away. “Tsukki? I’m here, what is it? I’m almost home—”

“ _Tadashi_ ,” Tsukishima chokes out, the word catching in his throat and sounding like a sob, though he isn’t actually crying (but he feels about .2 seconds away from doing so). 

“Tsukki? What’s going on?” Yamaguchi responds, voice steady but Tsukishima can’t miss the concern that saturates the edges of his words, and the guilt gnaws at him already. He shouldn’t be doing this, he shouldn’t be calling him, he— “Is that the wind I hear? Are you outside?”

“ _Please_ just come pick me up,” Tsukishima hisses between his teeth, pulling his knees to his chest. “ _Please_ , Yamaguchi, I—”

Yamaguchi sounds calm, but it barely conceals the frantic undertones to his voice. “Of course, Tsukki, but where are you?” 

“I was walking to the store, and I—” Tsukishima pitches forward with a rough gag, startling him and making the phone slip from his grasp. It takes one second before he’s having another round of getting sick, dizziness tugging at him with every heave that escapes his lips. It smells foul and he’s sure he probably smells just as foul, retching over the pavement like this. He realizes Yamaguchi must still be on the call, but he doesn’t have time to pick the phone back up; he’s not catching a break anytime soon.

Maybe it takes minutes, maybe it takes hours, but it feels like eons have passed before there’s a small hand on his back.

“Tsukki, I’m here,” Yamaguchi’s voice comes, muffled and quiet, and it makes a rush of relief burn Tsukishima’s insides before he retches again. “Oh, jeez, okay—” 

Yamaguchi’s hands catch his shoulders before Tsukishima can end up falling face first into his own vomit, tugging him back gently. 

“I got you,” Yamaguchi says, so soft. Tender. “I got you, Tsukki.” He tips Tsukishima backwards until the blond is leaning against Yamaguchi’s chest, taking in quick gasps of air. “Just breathe, okay? Focus on breathing.” Small circles then begin to get rubbed into Tsukishima’s shoulders as Yamaguchi repeats the words “I got you” like a mantra of some sort, and even though Tsukishima doesn’t want it to, it’s so terribly _comforting_ and _sweet_ that he whimpers softly, turning so he can press his cheek into Yamaguchi’s chest.

Yamaguchi dabs a napkin to Tsukishima’s lips and chin, cleaning away any vomit clinging there. Tsukishima only hums, reveling in the consolation, mind going blank because Yamaguchi is here, he’s _here._

“Man, Tsukki, your fever spiked…” Yamaguchi says, one of his hands coming up to cup Tsukishima’s cheek, a thumb swiping over the feverish skin. He sighs softly, only pulling Tsukishima closer to his chest. “Let’s get back to the apartment, yeah?”

Tsukishima doesn’t reply. The guilt and the regret can all come later. For now, he’ll take these moments and sink in them as much as he possibly can, even if the stinging in his heart remains.

  
  
  
  


Yamaguchi ends up practically dragging Tsukishima to the car, and Tsukishima almost dozes during the short ride back to the apartment. He jerks back to consciousness when they park and Yamaguchi, again, ends up practically dragging him to their room; Tsukishima has no more energy, completely spent, weak and head lolling.

That’s how they ended up where they are now—standing in the shower together, Tsukishima pressed up against Yamaguchi’s chest (the best he can, considering Tsukishima is taller) as the other boy gently kneaded circles into the tense muscles in his back, humming contentedly at the same time. Tsukishima is uncharacteristically pliant, having had enough to deal with for one day, though he knows Yamaguchi doesn’t care because Yamaguchi loves to take care of him. Tsukishima feels guilty for enjoying it, but he lost the battle with himself and now he’s wallowing in the gentle comfort that Yamaguchi provides.

Occasionally, Yamaguchi presses his lips to Tsukishima’s face—a kiss on his eyebrow, one on his forehead, one on the corner of his eye. It’s incredibly saccharine and sugary sweet, the way Yamaguchi kisses him like he hasn’t for a long time. 

Tsukishima still feels absolutely awful, but the shower (and Yamaguchi’s massaging) is helping him to feel slightly better. The water is a little colder than lukewarm but not so cold, Yamaguchi insisting that it can’t be warm because it’ll make his fever worse. It doesn’t matter anyway. Tsukishima feels warm with Yamaguchi’s arms enveloping him, his own little sanctuary from the world that’s out to get him.

“You ready to tell me what happened?” Yamaguchi asks, voice slow and careful. He kneads harder into Tsukishima’s skin when the other noticeably stiffens at the question. “You don’t have to… tell me all at once, Tsukki, but I think I should know.”

Tsukishima opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again. “I wanted to buy honey.”

“Oh,” Yamaguchi says, then, “Huh?”

“For the tea,” Tsukishima says, much too quiet, a bit embarrassed to admit any of this. “The one that you always make me when I’m sick. Y’know…”

“Oh! The one with honey and lemon?” Yamaguchi pipes up, giving a sheepish apology when Tsukishima winces from the loud voice. “And… we don’t have any honey? So you couldn’t make it, so you went out to the store…?”

Tsukishima just nods soundlessly, heart stuttering when Yamaguchi hums a bit before pressing a gentle kiss against his warm forehead. 

“Why didn’t you call me earlier?”

_There it is._

“You don’t have to tell me,” Yamaguchi quickly says, taking note of how Tsukishima tenses at the words. The circles being rubbed into his back grow bigger. “But I know you, Tsukki, and so I know when something is bothering you. I even noticed before I left for school.” Yamaguchi nuzzles his nose into the side of Tsukishima’s cheek, lips warm against the flushed skin. “I love you. So much, Tsukki! So much that it _hurts_. Please…” his words drift off, and then, “Let me know how to help you.”

Tsukishima caves for the second time that day because Yamaguchi is so loving and Tsukishima doesn’t think he deserves it, but his tone is coaxing and tinged with sadness, and Tsukishima doesn’t want Yamaguchi to ever be sad. It doesn’t suit him.

“I rely on you too much,” Tsukishima confesses, the words almost getting drowned out in the shower. “I rely on you when I shouldn’t. I’m sorry.” he tries to ignore the way Yamaguchi’s hands stop kneading into his skin, merely resting on his back now. “You’re always so busy taking care of me. I shouldn’t…”

_“Stop it.”_

Tsukishima quiets right away, breath hitching a little when Yamaguchi pulls back, hands coming up to sandwich Tsukishima’s face. It reminds Tsukishima of this morning, except this is different in all the ways possible. Yamaguchi’s eyes are fiery, but they’re gentle; _Yamaguchi_ is gentle, he’s sweet, even when Tsukishima is always the opposite of him, they melt together so well. 

“I’ll gladly take care of you every day,” Yamaguchi says, holding eye contact. The gaze burns. “Tsukki, _I love you._ I love you. I don’t take care of you because it’s some kind of job I don’t want to do, I take care of you because I love you and so I love taking care of you.”

Tsukishima shakes his head, though it’s a bit hard to do so with Yamaguchi’s hands pressed firmly into his cheeks. “No, no, it’s not _fair,_ I-I can’t take care of you properly, you give me so much and I can’t give you anything in return—”

“What are you _talking_ about?” Yamaguchi looks appalled, and frankly, a little bit scared.

“I can’t comfort, I’m not good with skinship, people always think I just boss you around and that we’re not actually in a relationship,” Tsukishima explains, throat tight and chest hurting. Yamaguchi’s face is slowly dropping, an expression of horror overtaking his gentle features. “You’re good with everything, you’re good with _me._ But… But _I’m_ not good for you, Yamaguchi, I’m—”

Yamaguchi brings Tsukishima’s face to his, their lips brushing against each other like a question; then Yamaguchi presses them together. It’s passionate and delicate all at once, Yamaguchi’s lips soft against Tsukishima’s chapped ones, and the blond is just glad he brushed his teeth earlier so he didn’t reek of vomit. 

They’re opposites, they’re different, they’re magnets—positive and negative sides slipping together, lips slotting with each other’s in a chaste kiss as if they’re made for each other all along.

(Maybe they are. Tsukishima might be willing to believe that.)

Yamaguchi pulls back, making eye contact with Tsukishima once more. “You take care of me perfectly,” he says, slow, making sure Tsukishima hears every word. “You take care of me _perfectly_ , do you hear me, Tsukki? Just because you have trouble with comforting words, or with human contact, doesn’t make you any less perfect for me than you are. You help me so much, Tsukki. If you never gave me back the love I give you, I wouldn’t have stuck around for this long!” 

He offers a small smile before pressing his forehead to Tsukishima’s, shower-cold skin leaning on feverish one. “You got me, Tsukki. I’m never letting go.”

_Ah._

There’s warmth on Tsukishima’s skin, not just from the fever now. 

“Oh? Tsukki! Don’t cry, why are you crying?” Yamaguchi exclaims, leaning back, concern swimming in his eyes as one of his hands come up to thumb away the tears Tsukishima hadn’t even known were falling. “Tsukki…!”

Tsukishima swallows past the lump in his throat, blinking rapidly as the wetness from his eyes keep falling, mingling with the shower water that trickles down his face. 

He still feels sick—his stomach is still sore, his head is still aching, but. But this new warmth blossoming in his chest brightens up the room, and all he can focus on right now is the boy in front of him that’s frantically telling him to stop crying (“Was it something I said? Tsukki! Don’t cry, don’t cry!”) and, oh. The stinging in his heart is gone, and Yamaguchi’s words echo deep within him, embedding themselves into his bones. _You got me, Tsukki. I’m never letting go._

“Idiot Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima chuckles a bit, a hand coming up to wipe at the tears lingering on his cheeks. “You kissed me. You’re gonna get sick.”

“Hey—!”

_You take care of me perfectly, do you hear me, Tsukki? Just because you have trouble with comforting words, or with human contact, doesn’t make you any less perfect for me than you are._

(Maybe… Maybe, this time, Tsukishima is willing to believe it.)

  
  
  
  


He ends up falling asleep with his head in Yamaguchi’s lap, after a violent round of vomiting in the trash can that involved Yamaguchi having to brace his forehead to keep his head from falling into the bin. They ended up watching some new anime Yamaguchi insisted on seeing, Tsukishima’s face pressed into Yamaguchi’s lap, before he found himself drifting.

When he wakes up, Yamaguchi isn’t there anymore but the TV is still playing a show his eyes can’t focus on. It’s completely dark outside now and he panics slightly, pushing himself up on his elbows with a sharp intake of breath—

“I’m right here! Right here,” Yamaguchi says from what seems to be the kitchen, before he comes into Tsukishima’s sight, an apologetic smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He laughs softly at the glare he receives in return. “Sorry, Tsukki.”

Only then, when Yamaguchi comes closer, can Tsukishima see the mug he’s holding in his hands. Much to his dismay, it’s the mug that he claims is Tsukishima’s favorite—the one with a pattern of mini dinosaurs on it—and it’s steaming, like there’s a hot drink in it. A sweet scent wafts into the air, and Tsukishima breathes it in (even though he’s a bit congested). It sort of smelled like… wait—

“Honey and lemon tea?” Tsukishima voices his thoughts, feeling his cheeks heat up when Yamaguchi flashes an impossibly wide smile. 

“Tsukki! So smart,” he praises, as if it wasn’t easy to guess the drink by its scent. 

“When did you buy the honey?”

“While you were sleeping, of course.”

Ignoring this, Tsukishima only nods, reaching his hand out to take the mug before Yamaguchi holds up a finger with his free hand. “No, let me hold it! You’re sick and you might drop the mug.”

With a roll of his eyes, Tsukishima lets his boyfriend settle on the sofa next to him, before Yamaguchi carefully holds the mug up to the blond’s lips. He looks at Tsukishima expectantly, as if urging, _go on and take a sip!_

“What are you doing? I’m not a child,” Tsukishima says, turning his head away from Yamaguchi, but gentle fingers slipping under his chin to turn his head right back manage to stop him. He reluctantly gazes at Yamaguchi, then the dino mug.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Yamaguchi tuts, bringing the mug back to his boyfriend’s lips. “I didn’t get to take care of you for like, the entire day. Just drink the tea from the mug, will you?”

Yamaguchi then attempts to persuade Tsukishima with a pout, bottom lip jutting out, because the little shit _knows_ that Tsukishima always softens when he gives those stupid puppy-dog eyes. Tsukishima falters, only slightly, before he deflates. “Fine. But this is still stupid.”

“Aw, you love me—”

“Shut up, Yamaguchi.”

“Sorry, Tsukki!”

So they sit there on the sofa, the storm having been eased into a light drizzle that danced against the windows, with Yamaguchi giggling and helping Tsukishima drink, while Tsukishima broods pitifully. It feels incredibly domestic, Tsukishima thinks, and maybe he wants this every day with Yamaguchi. Mornings where they wake up together, nights where they drift off in each other’s arms—even if there are days like these when one of them wakes up feeling under the weather, Tsukishima knows that they can always have each other.

After all, they’re magnets, positive and negative sides slotting together as if they were made for each other.

(They are. This time, Tsukishima knows that they definitely, definitely are.)

**Author's Note:**

> hi! you made it, i hope you enjoyed!
> 
> kudos + comments always appreciated!


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